“You weren’t talking about my flaws,” I say dumbly.
“I was referring to the fact that you’ve got no food in this house,” he says, voice choked like he’s trying not to laugh. “But I’m glad you told me about the split ends. Sounds like a real trauma. Don’t know how you managed to make it through all these years with something like that plaguing you.”
I throw a dishtowel at his head. He dodges it easily.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter, staring at the empty fridge to keep my eyes from undressing him. There’s something about seeing Nate playful that practically undoes me. “There’s leftover pizza in there. I think. And, uh, definitely a jar of maraschino cherries. Possibly a bottle of Sriracha. Plus, at least a half-bottle of wine.”
He’s silent.
“What? You could totally make a meal out of that.” I shrug and dart a glance at him. “Haven’t you ever heard of cherry-topped pizza with a Sriracha-wine glaze? It’s all the rage in Europe.”
“West, I’ve met stray dogs with more nutritious diets.” His eyes flash down the length of my body, lingering on my bare legs. “Makes no fucking sense, you looking like that.”
My heart stops. “What?”
He ignores me, shutting the fridge and moving to lean against the counter opposite me. His face flattens into a familiar mask as he folds his arms across his chest.
“We have to talk about O’Dair.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.” I narrow my eyes at him when he remains silent. “Please tell me you’re not seriously here to warn me away from another date.”
His jaw starts to tick. “He hangs with a bad crowd. He’s—”
“Wait! Let me guess… he’s dangerous!” I gasp. “What a unique and original concept!”
“West, you have to understand, your family’s wealth makes you a target—”
“No! No. Just because you think the only reason a man would be interested in me is to extort money or power doesn’t mean I’m going to start believing it. You might not think I’m worth anything beyond my last name, but—” I slam my lips together so I won’t do something stupid, like finish that sentence. Or cry.
Something flashes in his eyes — possibly surprise, more likely anger. “I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Well, you clearly believe it, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Remember Brett Croft? Or have you forgotten so easily?” His fists clench at just the memory. “He nearly killed Gemma. Wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you, too.”
Some of the wind goes out of my sails. “Cormack is nothing like Brett.”
“And you know this how, exactly? Woman’s intuition?” His voice drips sarcasm. “Did you read his aura? Did he pinky swear he wasn’t manipulating you?”
Okay, it’s official. Playful Nate is much better than Asshole Nate.
The anger thrumming in my bloodstream makes me bolder than usual. “You know, if I didn’t know better I’d swear you were jealous.”
His eyes flash darkly and an incredulous sound erupts from his mouth. “I’m being serious here, West.”
“So am I!”
His jaw ticks.
Watching him, something is abruptly clear. He doesn’t want me — he’ll never want me — but he doesn’t want anyone else to have me, either. Like a Pit Bull with a bone it doesn’t particularly like, but can’t relinquish to another dog out of pride or some other deeply ingrained territorial bullshit.
“West, listen to me,” he bites out, words icy. “Cormack O’Dair is—”
“Stop right there!” I snap, holding out my hands. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”
“West—”
“Why do you suddenly care who I date?” I ask point-blank. “What changed? Because, up until about a month ago, you’ve pretty much pretended I don’t exist.”
He swallows hard — I watch his Adam’s apple bob with the strength of it. When he speaks, his voice is carefully distant.